I wrote last night about my family’s love for reading and about how I used to hide in the front hall and read Charles Dickens. Apparently that was enough to stir up my mind and cause me to have one of my recurring dreams.
I’m in that same front hall and somehow discover behind the dresser a secret passageway. I crawl inside (my psyche apparently doesn’t know me too well!) and crawl and crawl emerging finally inside my grandparents’ house, which used to be in our front yard. Or I guess more accurately our house was in their yard since they were there first.
At any rate, the passage leads to their house, and I have time to look around and see things the way they were when I was a kid. My grandmother died in November the year I turned 11 and my granddad died the next July. My folks rented the house out for a while but it was too close for comfort and now it’s just beautiful yard.
The dream isn’t scary and I don’t see my grandparents there, although I feel that they are there, but it’s nice to hear the mantle clock tick and see the figurines I’d help polish every week.
Last night’s dream was a nice visit. I’m looking forward to the next one.